


Alternative Methods of Fitting In

by lizzledpink



Series: Telepathy 101 for Beginners [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzledpink/pseuds/lizzledpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He and Nyota were no longer. Four months and three days after the loss of his planet and the death of his mother, Spock lost the person who had kept him grounded through it all, the last piece of serenity known to him. </p><p>Except it turned out that wasn’t the case.</p><p>Because then there was Jim Kirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Methods of Fitting In

**Author's Note:**

> Do you know how weird it was to write this? I ship Spock/Kirk/Uhura more than I ship just Spock/Kirk. Yet, I wrote this. It was really, really weird. Anyway, this is both a bit of a prequel and a bit of a sequel to Odds and Ends.

During his relationship with Nyota, Spock had found himself interested in the way she controlled her emotions. From the first time he met her, she was solid, a blank or only mildly expressive face in a sea of wild, passionate, and rather hormonal academy students. He did not understand them. He was better at the nuances of emotion than many Vulcans among humans – his half-human genetics, or perhaps the influence of his mother? – but the causes still escaped him, the physicality overwhelmed him.

Cadet Uhura approached him with a serene face. She tripped on a step, and Spock briefly saw her eyes fly wide just before she crashed into him. He caught her against his chest, where she remained for a moment. Then, she pulled away. “I’m sorry. Thank you,” she said, her face entirely calm but for a tiny smile.

It was remarkable, truly, because in his arms, her emotions and a handful of thoughts had transferred over to him. She was incredibly nervous, attracted to him, terrified that he might think less of her for her stumble, and fiercely determined to accomplish her goals, whatsoever they might be. In the face of that flurry of emotion, she should have been flustered. Yet, she stood before him in complete calm, and the small smile on her face, though true, was strictly controlled.

“No thanks are necessary. May I help you?” Spock asked.

“Would you be willing to assist me with my study of the Vulcan language, Professor Spock?”

Remarkable. “Yes.”

Through her guidance, and eventually her compassion and affection, Spock found himself grounded, no longer quite so lost among humanity. Through her touch, he learned of jealousy and ecstasy, of desire and resignation, how she ignored some emotions and experienced others to the fullest, and always remained precisely as controlled as she wished.

Perhaps that was why it took him so long to finally see it. She was divorced from herself around him. He first noticed shortly after the Narada took the lives of half the graduating class of Cadets. He arrived late to the memorial, waylaid by a visit from his father. Spock arrived just as Gaila’s name was called, and Nyota choked and sobbed, ducking and covering her face with one hand. At her side, Chekov put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Nyota continued to sob.

As he approached, Nyota finally saw Spock, and quickly she ran her hand down her face, struggling to keep it impassive.

“I grieve with thee,” Spock murmured. Nyota nodded and looked away, tears still quietly streaming down her cheeks. She was embarrassed.

Spock did not understand.

He noticed it again in the mess, where she turned down Kirk with a roll of her eyes or laughed sweetly at Scotty’s claims of innocence with regards to a recent less-than-sanctioned repair. Yet, when she turned to him, her face was restrained, serene.

Eventually, he put the pieces together. Nyota did not feel free to express emotion around him. He brought it up, and they tried, truly, to put it back together. But they never quite got through it. “It’s been like trying to grab a fistful of sand you didn’t even realize was falling, but it just keeps falling through the cracks between your fingers until it’s all gone,” she said. It was the first time she had freely cried in front of him, and it was the last time she had kissed him.

He and Nyota were no longer. Four months and three days after the loss of his planet and the death of his mother, Spock lost the person who had kept him grounded through it all, the last piece of serenity known to him.

Except it turned out that wasn’t the case.

Because then there was Jim Kirk.

It was wholly unexpected, because though Spock’s respect for the Captain had continued to grow, as well as their friendship, he hadn’t before realized just how much of a comfort their association was to him. It was the very next night that Jim invited him to a game of chess, not in one of the recreational rooms as usual, but in Jim’s quarters.

The match began well, in silence. Jim acted no differently than usual right up until twenty minutes into the match, when he asked a question.

“Did something happen recently? Something personal? There’s no need to tell me, but I’d like to know, if you’re willing to.”

Spock found he was willing. “My relationship with Nyota ended yesterday.”

Jim looked up from the chessboard. “Ouch. The two of you are always so professional. I never would have guessed.”

“It would be inappropriate to allow it to interfere in our work.”

“I never thought either of you would,” Jim said easily, nudging a bishop into place. “That was a compliment to both of you. I’m sorry about that, Spock.”

“It was amicable. Neither of us was at fault.”

“That’s good. Still, even the gentlest break-ups hurt. Is there anything I can do?”

This was the moment Spock realized two interesting things about Jim Kirk. The first was that, as Spock had suspected for some time now, Jim’s personality was deeper than the shallow bravado he ordinarily showed. He was now certain of it: Jim’s competency and focus in moments of crisis, when his skills as Captain were most needed, were not merely the product of pressure and stress. Those skills were always present, under the surface. Curious. Spock wondered what Jim was truly like, when you chipped away the pieces of him that didn’t fit the facts.

The second was that Jim was... kind. Jim knew Spock felt emotions. How could he not? But he never truly pushed it. Jim was able to look at Spock and assess his emotional state with startling accuracy – Spock already knew that, as Jim’s intuition for the capabilities and status of his crew was nearly without flaw – but he never used that to make Spock uncomfortable.

Jim had managed to acknowledge that Spock _might_ be feeling upset over Nyota without any direct implications. He had given Spock the option to confide to any extent he wished, to feel nothing or suppress any feeling, in the Vulcan way, or to express sadness in a more human way. It was his choice.

It was not a choice he was often given.

Realizing he had been silent for a quite a while, Spock spoke. “I would ask you not to hold back in your chess abilities on my behalf.”

Jim was shocked, though quickly his expression morphed into a scowl. “I’m playing at my best!”

“Oh?” Spock raised an eyebrow, then tilted his head just a fraction too far. “You are. My mistake.”

Jim stared at Spock for a long moment. Then with a slow smile, he began to laugh, freely and openly, clutching his stomach. “You – you just insulted me. You _trash-talked_ me. Over chess!”

“I will not confirm,” Spock replied, moving a pawn forward. When Jim snorted, Spock also said, “Neither will I deny.”

“Damn straight you won’t,” Jim said with a grin. “Bring it on, asshole. This is gonna be fun.”

“I was unaware humans typically found it pleasing to lose,” rejoined Spock.

“Oh, so _that’s_ how you think this’ll go?”

Jim did lose, but he was grinning like a loon at the end nonetheless.

From the very start, Jim was never afraid to say and do exactly what was on his mind – except, Spock amended, when his wild expressions of emotion would cause anything more than minor irritation to others.

[Then, Cetus II. Perhaps Spock should have seen this step with Jim coming. Perhaps he was better off for the surprise.]

Every touch was its own revelation.

The casual swipe of fingertips was always certain, never so accidental or unconscious as it perhaps seemed from the outside. On duty, he flirted only in light brushes of skin, or sometimes in a slight softness to his smile. In private, he hooked an ankle around Spock’s, or cupped his face and kissed his cheek. Always in contact. He hid nothing. Any time Jim was anything less than purely sincere, he made it obvious though gestures or jokes, or kept in contact with Spock, deliberately projecting the truth.

There was no pressure. Jim let Spock set the pace of everything. Once, left somewhat alone in sickbay as Jim recovered from a fight, Spock asked if he ever felt like they were going too slow, and as ever, Jim was honest. He sat down at Spock’s side, smiling.

“Well, let me try and put it this way. My dick would probably agree with you,” he said with a mild leer. “But the rest of me is happily telling my dick to shut up. First, I’m pretty sure... Someday. Second, and more importantly, this is good, Spock. The last time I was – I don’t know, courted? It feels like we’re courting. I haven’t done dating like this since high school. It’s not that I haven’t felt cared about before, but this, us, is special. If you want to throw me up against a wall and have your way with me, I don’t think I’m about to complain. But...”

Jim toppled slightly to the side, leaving his head to rest on Spock’s shoulder, and sighed. There was a tear in Spock’s shirt there, and the press of skin to skin let Jim’s contentment (and a bit of dull pain from his arm, nothing unmanageable) flood into Spock’s head.

 _This makes me happy,_ Jim thought. Spock thought the same.

Spock thought he was learning something. A lesson, maybe, about how what he thought he wanted wasn’t always truly what he needed. But he couldn’t quite put a name to it.

That was alright, because Jim had plenty of time to teach him. 


End file.
